


From Beyond

by scowlofjustice



Category: Megamind (2010)
Genre: Faking the Dead, Gen, Ghosts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-06-10 03:28:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6937855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scowlofjustice/pseuds/scowlofjustice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Metro Man had the brilliant idea to fake his death.  Why stop at death?  With a little help, he gets the brilliant idea to visit Megamind from beyond the grave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude

Lady Doppler was the kind of person who preferred to stay under the radar. There was too much commitment in being either a heroine or a villainess. Even the Doom Syndicate had given up on trying to recruit her, since it was clear that she would never be part of an organization whose attempts at Organized Crime had only resulted in a kind of Disheveled Misbehavior.

 

She leaned against a doorway, feeling the clouds pass by overhead while flipping a coin and catching it out of boredom.

 

Someone stepped out of a bar. She almost ignored it. But it wasn't really a full step, or even a half step. It was more like this foot touched the ground only as an afterthought. Not even a small child holding a bundle of helium balloons could tread so lightly.

 

And yet—she closed her eyes and felt the air swirling around this person. No one that huge could possibly be so dainty. It was inhuman.

 

Her mouth gaped for a moment, and then formed into a wicked grin. So maybe it was.

 

She flicked her wrist and listened to the cracking of ice traveling down the street and the yelp of a man who, having been caught unaware, slipped and performed a backflip before landing on his feet and looking around to make sure nobody had seen that.

 

“I saw that,” she said. “Your feet are barely touching the ground!”

 

“Yes they are,” squeaked the man, sinking one centimeter.

 

She sighed in such an expansive way that ice crackled beneath the man's feet, melted, and then evaporated into a thick fog that enveloped their tiny world. Through it, he could still see the whites of her eyes. He rubbed his own, remembering that there was nothing to her eyes _but_ whites.

 

“Come on, Steve. Are you even trying to not get recognized?”

 

“Hey! I'm wearing a really cool hat,” Steve protested.

 

“Your hat is no match for me,” Lady Doppler announced. “I can recognize anyone based on their natural musk.”

 

“What do I smell like that gives me away?”

 

“Hmm. Some sort of tea infused with lavender.” She lifted her nose and sniffed. “Earl grey. And there's a hint of cat in there, too. But not in a gross way.”

 

“You can get all of that?”

 

“Nah. I just know it's you. You don't walk like normal people.”

 

“But I really try!” He squealed. “I thought I was good at being normal.”

 

“I'm sure you're good enough for most people. No one notices _anything._ The trick to really seeing is to not rely on your eyeballs.”

 

Steve let the words wash over him, not really comprehending. Having super sight meant everything to him. “Looks like a storm is coming up,” he'd say, while sipping tea and glancing through several meters of dirt and gravel in his underground home. She, on the other hand, could feel the swirling emergence of a low-pressure system, and would gladly make matters worse if she was in the mood for drenching the city.

 

“So then I'm _still_ just me. Even when I try to get away from myself,” Steve pouted.

 

“Chill.”

 

Steve looked around, expecting more ice to form. But Lady Doppler wasn't _that_ predictable.

 

“I just know these things. Only because I'm the same way. Floating around the sky, planning the next El Niño or Polar Vortex. But the weather's weird enough without me,” she said, forming a tiny tornado in her hand and releasing it into the street to create a whirlwind of garbage. “So lately I just pick up girls. See? You're not the only one with useless powers.”

 

“But when you're not creating hazardous weather conditions, your work is so great,” Steve swooned.

 

“Half of my work _is_ creating hazardous weather conditions,” she snapped. Lady Doppler was always there for villains in need of a perfectly timed stroke of lightning while making a dramatic pronouncement, or helping along a blizzard that would shut down the entire city. Even a sunny day was deceptive if it meant enabling a death ray.

 

And then there were people like Metro Man, who would simply request a particularly nice sunset for riding off into after a job well done.1

 

“But I like the other half, when you're making pretty clouds,” said Steve.

 

“How about a rainbow in the dark?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

 

He tilted his head with a confused frown.

 

“Sorry. It's just that one time I caught Megamind singing that old Dio song on top of Metro Tower during one of my thunderstorms. You know?” She bobbed her head and started playing air guitar.

 

“When there's LIGHTNING!

You know it always brings me DOOOOOOOWN!

Cause I SEEEEE that it's FREEEEEE and it's MEEEEEE

Who's lost and never FOOOUUUND!

 

...And then he fell to this knees and shook his fist to the heavens. I wish I caught it on tape.”

 

“Oh. Megamind was always so good at shouting at the sky when he thought no one was around,” Steve sighed. “I left him so suddenly. I never really had the chance to say goodbye...but dead people don't do that.”

 

Lady Doppler placed a finger on her chin. “Or _do_ they?”

 

 

 _____

 

1Usually on his prized moped, since he needed _something_ to ride on.


	2. Lightning Strikes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exploding sandwiches and giant fog monsters.

The sound of slow, morose tooth brushing echoed down the cavernous corridor of Metro City Hall. The sound paused, and there was a rustle of cloth. Megamind frowned into the mirror with a hand tugging on his pajama collar. Something was wrong in a world where he didn't get dragged to justice.

 

He glanced across the reflection pool at the colossus of his nemesis. Storm clouds pooled along the sky like black ink, but Metro Man's likeness remained illuminated. It was a mockery, Megamind thought, of the man he'd accidentally blown up.

 

He'd have to blot it out of his mind some way.

 

Megamind hunched over the sink and splashed his face when the world went dark.

 

“Minion!” he shouted.

 

“My apologies, sir. I didn't realize you were still in here.” The fish flicked the light back on and clunked away.

 

Megamind shoved his dripping face into a towel, muttering “hmph.” When he pulled his face out, the room was dark again.

 

“Min--?”

 

The building was silent.

 

He clapped his hands, and nothing happened. “Why doesn't anyone have a clapper?”

 

He stomped to the light switch and flipped it. The room was still dark. Megamind pondered the merits of building a backup generator out of potatoes, but then decided that a little bit of gloom was never a bad thing and he shuffled back to the sink and hung up the towel.

 

That was when he saw It.

 

A bolt of lightning seared through the sky and for a timeless moment Megamind was frozen as though in a photograph. His startled reflection stared back at him, but there was something else.

 

He screamed.

 

He turned.

 

He threw his slipper at the spot of air where It had been. The slipper only landed with a clink as it collided with glass. Minion stood in the doorway and turned on the light.

 

“Minion!” Megamind choked, stumbling over himself and landing before Minion's feet.

 

“I saw him!” Megamind shouted. He shot to his feet. “In the mirror! Floating right behind me! He might still be watching,” he added, leaning in and cupping a blue hand as though trying not to be overheard.

 

“Oh visitor from beyond the grave,” he announced to the room. “What have we mortals done to invoke your wrath?”

 

“I think it's pretty obvious,” muttered Minion.

 

“Quiet!” Megamind pricked his ears, hoping for some answer along the lines of: “Well...you kind of killed me. I mean, good job and all. You win. But still.”

 

The room was silent.

 

“Minion! You scared him away!”

 

“What a travesty.”

 

“You don't even know who I'm talking about!” Megamind shrieked.

 

“Was it the ghost of Christmas Past?”

 

“Quit mocking me! It was not the ghost of Christmas Past, or the Present, or the Transcendental Fourth Dimension of Time.”

 

“Whatever you say, sir.”

 

“Look. He was right here, in this very spot. The ghost of! The ghost _of_. The _ghost_ of. _The_ ghost of Mu-Mu-Meh...”

 

“Monet, the 19th century Impressionist painter?”

 

“Look. If you don't believe me, that's fine. It's _my_ hands that are covered in his blood, after all. I'm the one who murdered him,” Megamind said.

 

“Monet, or the Ghost of Christmas Past?”

 

“Oh bother! What good are you in my time of need?” Megamind brushed past Minion and stomped down the hallway, wearing only one slipper.

 

He huddled behind his desk, surrounded by a fortress of salvaged books, his 'Megamind: Evil Overlord' nameplate, and one half-eaten sandwich. He occasionally glanced up, jumpy and owl-eyed, and then buried his head under his arms again, humming tunelessly. The sound of the nervous humming slowly died away and turned into snoring.

 

Megamind hadn't been asleep for more than ten minutes when there was a tapping at the window. He lifted his head, rubbing an eye and looking around with the vague hope that he'd just woken up from a weird dream.

 

A vortex of wind thrust the windows behind him open and turned the office into a tornado of books and paper. His sandwich exploded and a single slice of Swiss Cheese landed on a page of _Notes From the Underground_ by Fyodor Dostoyevsky. The holes in the cheese left the following words visible:

 

_...acutest spleen…_

_...tea with sugar…_

_...I should be appeased…_

_...lie awake at night with shame…_

_...come out._

_...forgiveness…_

 

“Damn weather,” Megamind grumbled. He shut the window and leaned against it with his arms crossed. Now that his nap had been rudely disrupted by the elements, he pondered, he might as well go for a stroll and forget about this night. Maybe he'd even blow something up.

 

He salvaged his missing slipper from the bathroom and beckoned a few brainbots to follow him outside with some dynamite. His slippers scuffled along on the ground by the edge of the reflection pool. Far away, Metro Man's towering likeness rotated in stony oblivion, but Megamind's gaze was directed downward. He stopped and studied his rippling form in the water, not entirely aware that his brainbots were glancing around and bowging with concern.

 

A mist descended upon the pool. Megamind squinted down at his fading reflection and then frowned. An otherworldly glow began to illuminate his features and he glanced up at a fog formation so dense it seemed that a truckload of dry ice had been dumped into the water. As he studied the foggy forms, they shifted around from shapeless blobs into an imposing figure of cloud.

 

“Metro Man!” Megamind gasped.

 

The solemn fog monster gazed down at him from its lofty heights.

 

“You Have Forgotten Me,” the cloud rumbled.

 

“How could I have? I only blew you up three weeks ago.”

 

“Well? Maybe You Aren't As Sharp As You Used To Be.”

 

“Are you saying I'm getting old?”

 

“I've Seen The Way You Inspect Your Goatee For Grey Hairs.”

 

“That's just meticulous grooming! And like _you're_ one to talk,” Megamind spat.

 

“Well Yes,” said the voice of thunder. “I'm Dead.”

 

Megamind sputtered up at the cloud-man. This was not how this conversation was supposed to go. “I never meant to _destroy_ you,” he could have said. “I never had the chance to say goodbye,” he could have added tearfully. Instead he gaped up at the clouds, and the clouds gaped back at him.

 

“Sorry,” Megamind mumbled.

 

“Oh. Well. That's All Right,” said Metro Man's enormous apparition.

 

“But I'm a murderer!” Megamind cried. He tripped over himself in an effort to get closer, but instead landed face down in the pool. He floundered and gasped on his hands and knees. His slippers floated away. “Just strike me down now!”

 

There was only silence. And then: “Are You Sure About That?”

 

“Yes! Without you, I have no reason to live!” Megamind struggled to get onto his feet, spraying water everywhere.

 

“Really? I Didn't Realize You Felt That Way,” said the fog, touched. It even blushed with tiny sparks of lightning.

 

Megamind sunk to his knees, his pajama-cape swirling around him. “Great spirit! What am I supposed to do?”

 

“Well There Are Other Hobbies Aside From Villainy,” said the fog. “Take Hydroponic Gardening, For Instance.”

 

“Evil hydroponic gardening?” said Megamind. “Or building chia pets that are secretly time bombs?”

 

“Maybe, But You Could Garden In A Non-Evil Way.”

 

“But I am evil!” Megamind protested. “It's all I'll ever be! All I do is leave a wake of destruction in my path!”

 

“But Do You Want To Be Evil?” asked the sky. “You Must Consider Your Own Wishes For A Change.”

 

“Oh, what do you know? You've spent all of your life being _nice_. Like you've ever done anything like prank the entire town.”

 

“Er...” the sky rumbled uncertainly. “Ah, Um. It Seems That Being In This Mortal World Is Taxing On My Soul,” the sky added, fading away into the distance. “But Consider...Who You Could Become.”

 

“That's not helping at all!” shouted Megamind, chasing after the fog and shaking his fist at the sky.

 

“Consider It...” the fog rumbled one last time.

 

The sky cleared, leaving Megamind alone, dripping, and shivering. He stomped back to the edge of the pool while two of his brainbots retrieved his slippers and wrung the water out of them. “Ghosts these days,” he grumbled, squeezing the water out of his cape. “Always preaching foofy stuff, 'like trust your feelings' and 'use the Force, Luke.' Whatever happened to a good haunting?”

 

He turned and considered all of the brainbots surrounding him. “You all saw that, right?”

 

Several of them bowged in affirmation.

 

“I'll take your word for it,” he said, frowning. “Though I don't know if I believe you. How does AI see spiritual beings? Well, I do suppose there are ghost-ometers. But I never designed you with anything like that.”

 

The brainbots turned to one another, shrugging.

 

“Well, come on. We still have a job to do,” said Megamind. He glanced at the distant statue underneath a clear sky that had, until the past few minutes, looked ready to storm.


	3. Flowers and Bombs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never underestimate the power of cosplay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention this before. For those who are uninitiated on how my Megamind 'verse works, Metro Man's actual name is Steve Scott. He's Wayne Scott everywhere else in the fandom, but I have my own particular thing.

“I know how this goes,” said Megamind. First he was talking to the sky, and now he was talking to stone. “You must part with all worldly idols so your soul can be free. So I have a final parting gift: Flowers. And bombs.”

 

The flowers he had gotten from a nearby florist. It was closed, but he'd spray painted “Megamind's Florist” on its entrance the day before, so he had the right to it. Even so, he still felt it necessary to sneak in by cutting a hole in the front window and climbing in while humming the _Mission: Impossible_ theme.

 

“I hope this will appease your restless spirit,” he said, letting the flowers drop, but not before setting the detonator. “May this be our final farewell,” he sniffed. “I suppose.” He squinted up at the sky, half expecting an apparition of Metro Man to swoop down on him.

 

Megamind checked the countdown on his watch and ran to the elevator at the end of the circular catwalk, deciding that he didn't want to risk any more celestial visits. He mostly didn't want to explode, but he didn't want to see any ghosts, either.

 

The elevator doors closed and he caught his breath.

 

* * *

 

 

On the other end of the walkway, another elevator slid open.

 

The sound of booted footfalls echoed along the abandoned space. It was not the undignified clumping along of muddy workboots, or the sqeaking sound of rubber rainboots. It was also not the sound of six-inch platforms adorned with stars and spikes, but they did have a decent heel to them. This did not change the fact that the wearer of them was incurably short.

 

Roxanne Ritchi had just signed off for the channel 8 news, which meant she'd also had to dodge her camera man's horrid attempts at flirting. Usually she would just get rid of Hal by pointing over his shoulder and saying something like, “Look! A lifetime supply of Mountain Dew!” and running off in the opposite direction.

 

Metro Man's likeness towered from within the confines of the walkway, holding up a gilded globe like a triumphant bodybuilder rising out the ocean with a beachball.

 

Roxanne leaned over the railing and looked up to the colossus. “Dammit! You left us too soon. What's this city going to be without you?”

 

* * *

 

 

“This place is turning into a dump without me,” said Steve. He and Lady Doppler were sitting on the curb across the street from the Metro Man Museum, conveniently hidden from plain sight by an overturned hot dog stand.

 

Lady Doppler blew a pink bubble of gum and let it pop. “Don't blame yourself,” she said. "That's your problem, trying to be dependable. _He's_ the one who's trashing the place, not you.”

 

“Yeah, but...”

 

“Look, man. Are you going to spend your whole life cleaning up everyone's messes?”

 

Steve sighed. “I guess not. But...”

 

“No buts. You're going to sit here and watch him blow up that tacky statue of you.”

 

“It's not _that_ tacky,” Steve pouted.

 

“But it still wasn't your idea. It's all the city deciding you're some big noble hero. And now you've decided to say: 'Hey! Screw 'em.' And what better way to throw it all away than to watch this thing get blown to bits? So sit back and enjoy the show.” She leaned back on the curb and pulled out a pair of sunglasses from her side pocket.

 

As she slipped them on, Steve shot up, but not so high that Lady Doppler couldn't reach up with a hand and pull him back down.

 

“I can't let him blow it up!” Steve gasped.

 

“Come on. You can't like that statue _that_ much.”

 

“No! It's not that! It's—Look!” Steve pointed.

 

“I can't look. I'm busy wearing cool shades,” said Lady Doppler.

 

“But Roxanne is up there! We have to do something!”

 

“Don't look at _me_. I don't save people. Otherwise I'd end up like you.”

 

“But _I_ can't do anything! I'm dead!” said Steve.

 

“Well,” said Lady Doppler, “Pretty soon she's gonna be dead, too. Convenient.”

 

“That's not how it works!” Steve wailed. “We have to get her out of there. Or stop the bombs. Or something.”

 

“Hmmm.” Lady Doppler tapped a finger to her chin. “All right. I'll need you to use your superspeed.”

 

“Sure.”

 

“Now I'm gonna give your directions to my place. Just go in through the balcony, that's what I always do. And grab an old costume of mine. Also, find some hedge clippers if you can.”

 

* * *

 

 

Steve had disappeared and Lady Doppler drifted to the base of the Metro Man statue. Several brainbots were floating around and putting the final touches on a network of dynamite.

 

“Shoo!” she said, waving an arm at them.

 

The brainbots only exchanged glances.

 

“I said: _Shoo,”_ she repeated, waving her arm again and sending a blast of ice in their direction.

 

She returned her attention to the dynamite once the brainbots were securely frozen against a nearby wall.

 

She hopped for the bombs. It was a simple matter of overpowering the electrical flow, or cutting it off altogether. She placed her hands on the base of the statue and closed her eyes. Lightning was her favorite bit of weather. She could feel it welling in the earth and exploding into the sky. It was pure, untamed power. The tiny, simplistic network that dictated Megamind's explosives was a trifle by comparison.

 

With enough concentration she could feel the energy flow through the wires, and see how the detonator communicated with it all. It was a bit like glimpsing into the brain of the person who designed it.

 

In this case it was Megamind, which she tried not to think about.

 

* * *

 

 

The deed was done. Almost. Had the deed _really_ been done, he'd have had to been far away from the building by now, lest he fall into the same fate that Metro Man had. Namely, exploding.

 

Step one to Not Exploding was running away.

 

He stepped into the elevator, quite pleased with himself and humming a tune while the doors shut behind him. Then he felt a tugging. Before he had time to think much about it his feet were pulled out of his slippers and he and found himself scrabbling upside down and shouting _“Gnya!”_ at the mercy of an elevator door that he was holding his cape captive.

 

For most villains, the choice between looking properly evil and not dying is difficult to make. Megamind was no exception to the rule. In fact, he _was_ the rule, but these were merely his evil pajamas and so without much thought he snatched his De-Gun from its holster and shot a heat ray through its fabric.

 

He could have untied the cape, but he always needed an excuse to set things on fire.

 

This wasn't so much of a problem until the elevator hit the ground floor and a wailing ball of fire rolled out of it and into a cart of books. Megamind stood up. There was a museum archivist hunched over the cart and examining the barefoot and still slightly burning villain without much interest.

 

“You have to get out of this building!” Megamind panted. “There's a madman in here! This place is gonna go sky high in two minutes and thirty-seven seconds!”

 

The man across the cart from him merely blinked. It was impressive as far as blinks went. He had the ability to blink in such a way that the slow descent and re-ascent of his eyelids seemed to last an eternity, like the explosion and the collapse of the universe, with the birth and the death of trillions of galaxies within it.

 

Megamind had almost forgotten where he was.

 

“So,” said Megamind, remembering that the universe hadn't ended yet, “we need to, um, evacuate. So we don't die.”

 

The man sighed and gazed around with the exaggerated manner of someone who was humoring a small child or a delusional adult. “I don't see anyone here,” he said.

 

“Of course you do! It's _me!_ Can't you recognize a madman when you see one?”

 

“Huh. And I just thought you were a very bad cosplayer. Looks can be deceiving. Not to say that you're _not_ a bad cosplayer in addition to whatever else you are,” the man said.

 

Megamind frowned, trying to work this out, but then shook his head. “Look. We don't have time for this!” He rammed the cart forward and sprinted for the exit while his passenger tumbled onto the cart with an eruption of books.1

 

* * *

 

 

“...and what are we going to do about this excess of evil? Ach!” Roxanne fumbled backward as she heard a whoosh and her vision went black.

 

She made ready to sweep her attacker off of their feet, which was quite easy as her attacker was always rather thin and top-heavy. Then she heard a familiar voice, and it wasn't Megamind's.

 

“Here. Put this on,” said the other woman, thrusting a bundle into her arms.

 

Roxanne froze, but only metaphorically.

 

“Misty?” Roxanne said.

 

The woman cleared her throat. “ _Misty?_ ” said the voice, in a poor attempt at speaking at a different pitch. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

 

“Misty Flores. From the Channel 6 weather.” She lifted the top hat from her eyes and squinted up at the weatherwoman.

 

“Well. You got me. But that's not important. We have to make it look like you stopped it.”

 

“Stopped what?”

 

“The bomb.”

 

“The…? The _bomb?_ ” Roxanne looked around, and then down over the railing at the statue's feet. “Oh. Why didn't I look down before?”

 

“Beats me. Anyway, I already cut the power. But don't tell anyone that. Because _you_ ,” she said, adding a pair of hedge clippers to the bundle in Roxanne's arms, “are Metro City's new hero.”

 

Roxanne looked down. “Was this an old Tuxedo Mask cosplay?”

 

Misty shrugged. “Maybe.”

 

“And what are the hedge clippers for?”

 

“To make it look like you cut the wire.”

 

“Who defuses a bomb with _hedge clippers?_ ”

 

Misty shrugged.  "Megamind, probably.  But that's not the point.  Don't you want to get back at him?”

 

“Well. I never did realize he was _that_ evil.”

 

“Exactly! He killed Metro Man! He was about to blow up public property! Well, he always does that. Because he's so evil. And now it's your chance to stop him.”

 

“Through the power of cosplay?”

 

Misty gave Roxanne a hard look. “Never underestimate the power of cosplay.”

 

* * *

 

 

There was a large crash, but not an explosion. The remains of a book cart were scattered around the already demolished (and de-relished) hot-dog stand. Books and bottles of mustard littered the street. A single wheel rolled down the sidewalk.

 

“Crisis averted!” shouted Megamind, leaping to his feet, still barefoot and smelling burnt. He peeled a nametag that read “Bernard Grumblés” from his forehead.

 

“Ugh. This has been the worst day of my entire life,” groaned Bernard's voice from beneath the splintered cart.  He crawled out from beneath the wreckage with his glasses askew and his suit looking as though it had gone through a tornado of angry cats.

 

“Stand back!” said Megamind. He thrust an arm in front of Bernard as soon as he'd gotten up and promptly knocked him over.

 

Megamind frowned, looking at his watch. “What's the deal with this thing? It should have gone off 3.7 seconds ago.”

 

“Unnghhh,” said Bernard.

 

“No matter. I always have an extra detonator on hand,” said Megamind. He fished a tiny remote control out of his pocket with a clear lid that shielded a large red button. Stamped on the lid were the words: “PRESS TO CAUSE EMERGENCY”

 

He flipped the lid open with his thumb, and closing his eyes with a smirk of self-satisfaction, he pressed down. His thumb only pressed the center of his palm.

 

Megamind opened an eye. Something had knocked the remote detonator from his hand and sent it crashing into the sidewalk. He turned, blinked at the shattered remote, and then saw a single rose sticking out of a crack in the pavement.

 

“Megamind!” called a voice from the rooftops.

 

Megamind turned and beheld a lone figure silhouetted against the sky. It wore a thin mask, and its cape flared as though in wrath, even on this windless night. The outline also seemed to have a really cool hat.

 

“Um. Yes?” Megamind said.

 

“Your reign of terror is over!” It called, pointing down at him.

 

“I don't think it was so much of a _reign_ ,” said Bernard, sitting on the curb and rubbing his temples, “so much as a light drizzle.”

 

Megamind looked down at himself. Between the missing slippers and the burnt pajamas, he was in no condition to banter with a well-dressed adversary.

 

“Megamind?” he said. “Ah! No, you must be mistaken. This is...this is just a costume. A rather tasteless one, my friend, er… _Burrrnaard_ would admit.”

 

“We're not friends,” said Bernard.

 

“Oh, always a kidder, that Bru-naird,” Megamind chuckled. “Come on, Barry. How long have we known each other?”

 

“Three minutes. Though it feels like a lifetime.”

 

“See? Some friendships start instantly,” Megamind said.

 

“Some friendships don't start at all,” Bernard retorted.

 

“Megamind, I _know_ it's you,” said the shadow on the rooftop.

 

Something compelled Megamind to scowl and stomp his foot. He didn't understand it. There was just something about that voice that held a power over him. “What do you know? I happen to be very good at impressions!”

 

“Fine. If you aren't Megamind, then who are you?”

 

“Ollo.”

 

“Ollo?”

 

“Yes. Er. Um. Well that's my last name. My first name is Hans.”

 

There was an audible sigh from up above.

 

“Just go home,” said the rooftop ranger. “And put some decent clothes on.”

 

\---

 

1While knowledge in any form should never be destroyed, these were merely copies of _Megamind Unmasked,_ and therefore were not very accurate.


	4. Chia Pets and Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roxanne continues to fight Megamind through the power of cosplay. Meanwhile, other forces are at work to bring about his downfall.

“I can't beliefff myfelff!” shouted Megamind, slamming his fist on the table and spraying bits of doughnut everywhere.

 

Minion lifted up a clipboard just in time to shield himself from the powdery onslaught.

 

“A new hero! Coming to challenge me! And I was practically in rags! I could die from the shame,” he wailed.

 

“This is why I tell you not to blow things up past your bedtime,” Minion chided.

 

“But you didn't see it! They were so...were so...” he trailed off, reaching for the red rose from the night before and plucking it from its beaker-vase.

 

“...so?” said Minion.

 

“So poised,” sighed Megamind. He put the rose to his chest and leaned back in his villain's chair, spinning. “Such heroic posture! And the presentation! It's like they've had a front row seat to heroics and villainy for years.”

 

“They couldn't have been that great,” said Minion.

 

“But you weren't there! And I was an embarrassment. They probably won't want to fight me again. Well, there goes _that_ hero. I'll have to wait for another courageous soul to appear—AARRGH! Not _that_ soul!” He scrambled backward and tripped over his cape, trying to catch his balance on a nearby table. He instead knocked it over with an explosion of doughnuts.

 

He was as white as a sheet. It was mostly the powder. Megamind stood up, dusting his cape. “It was that ghost again! I saw it out of the corner of my eye!” He darted his head back and forth, squinting.

 

“Sir,” said Minion, “did you even sleep last night?”

 

“What are you saying, Minion?”

 

“Well, it's just that when you get drowsy, you can be a bit jumpy...and...seeing things that aren't really there.”

 

“Oh, tell me _one_ time that happened.”

 

“The time you wrestled that cardboard cutout of Metro Man.”

 

“I was just testing the durability of the material!”

 

***

 

Above, in the murky heights of Evil Lair there lurked shapes as toothy, shadowy, and menacing as those in the remotest depths of the oceans.

 

Something else lurked up there as well, and it listened.

 

It listened, and wondered.

 

***

 

“...From now on I must stay on my guard,” Megamind fumed. He shuffled away, leaving a trail of doughnut powder in his wake. “We need to attract heroes to us, and in order to do that, we must continue to commit acts of an atrocious nature.”

 

Megamind leaped over the hidden trapdoor next to his idea wall, just as he had done thousands of times.

 

He needed to get lost in Evil musings. It was the only way to feel right again.

 

_Focus_ , he told himself.

 

His hand shook and he pursed his lips. He stared at his idea wall, but had no ideas. The only images that filled his head were of Metro Man's ghost and of the masked figure on the rooftop. His trembling fingers found a pencil and started to sketch, but no sinister machinery bloomed from the pencil's point.

 

Frowning, he stood back and examined his handiwork. His artistry hadn't quite captured the stunning rooftop ranger, but he was no artist.1 The Rooftop Ranger. He rather liked the name. He leaned in and wrote the name in all capitals beneath the drawing. No, that font didn't feel right. He tried it again in loopy cursive. Then he drew some cartoon hearts around it, but felt embarrassed about it and erased them. In their place, he drew some anatomically correct hearts.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The Rooftop Ranger, not that she knew she was called that, had already infiltrated the Evil Lair. It was easy to spot, since it _was_ the only building in the city with a fake observatory on the roof.

 

She wore a hood to conceal her identity. It was part of a tunic she'd borrowed from Misty, which was a shade of green that might serve to camouflage her on the forest scene for an elementary school play. It did little to hide her in this urban locale. It wouldn't do much to hide her in an _actual_ forest, either.

 

Living up to her name, The Rooftop Ranger had ascended to the top of an abandoned building by crawling up fallen beams and using whichever fire escapes that weren't hanging by the threads of rusty bolts. Then, using a fully functional Legend of Zelda hookshot, she propelled herself from building to building until she had reached her badly disguised destination.

 

Minion had already started to convert the dome into a rooftop garden. Roxanne looked around, suddenly tempted to see if there were any hidden jewels in some of the pots, although she had no idea where that notion had come from.

 

Roxanne hadn't even peeked into a single vase when she noticed an innocuous looking Chia Pet in the shape of a hedgehog. She didn't understand why she was drawn to it, but she picked it up and examined it.

 

It seemed familiar. Steve had given one just like it to her as a gift on her cat's birthday. When it disappeared one day after a kidnapping, she hadn't really noticed. She hadn't really thought about it until now. Still not giving it much thought, she slipped it into her tunic pocket.

 

She wasn't here for Chia Pets. She was here for revenge.

 

Roxanne crept for the spiral staircase that led downward into the lair. Stealth was not needed when Megamind's voice boomed throughout the abandoned warehouse he called home. Still, she needed a diversion for flying around the rafters, so she watched.

 

She heard a screech and saw, far below, a fountain of doughnuts. Deciding this was her moment, Roxanne spotted a zeppelin hanging from the ceiling and aimed her hookshot at the chain it was suspended by.

 

Air whooshed in her ears. She shot across the space like a bullet. She grabbed for the chain, but it slipped away from her grip and her hand fell away, covered in dark grease. Wrapping her legs around the chain instead, she flopped over the side of the zeppelin and hung upside down with her heart in her throat.

 

She stared into _The Abyss_ . _The Abyss_ was really the name of a nearby blimp that was shaped like a shark. It stared back at her. Its jaws were yawning as if it were locked in an internal debate of wondering whether she would turn out to be a flavorful seal or a bony human that was not worth the effort of maiming.

 

Roxanne pointed her hookshot at it, but lowered her arm. Shooting it would just deflate it, and then she'd be hanging from a sad, shark shaped bag.

 

Maybe, she thought, she could somehow swing herself to its mouth.

 

The thought had hardly passed her mind when a gust of air from some unseen air-duct knocked the zeppelin into the shark-blimp. The Rooftop Ranger was sent cartwheeling into toothy darkness.

 

For a brief moment she detected the scent of lavender, tea, and cats, but not in a gross way. It stirred some memory within her, but she was too busy with almost dying that she hadn't given it much thought.

 

Roxanne lay dazed in the darkness. Voices echoed from beyond _The Voide,_ which was a hot-air balloon shaped like a blowfish. They said something about cardboard cutouts and acts of an atrocious nature. She crept closer to the mouth of the shark and looked down. Minion had sighed and clunked away. Megamind was muttering and scribbling something Evil, but she couldn't see anything from her vantage point.

 

She decided it was time she lowered herself to the ground in a non-lethal way. That was a must. As for being stealthy about it, she would have to think about that.

 

After glancing around she spotted the folds of a ruby red curtain. _That_ would hide her descent.

 

The bar that it was suspended from would make good grappling material. She shut an eye and aimed for it. The hook clinked as it connected, and had Megamind turned around to look, he would have beheld a green blur being spat out of his shark-blimp like a distasteful chunk of seaweed. He would have also seen a ripple flutter through his curtain, but he was much too busy getting the aorta just right on one of his anatomically correct hearts.

 

Roxanne slipped down the line. She was enveloped in red velvet that rustled in her ears—and then the sound stopped. The ground was still ten feet below her, and she had run out of chain. Roxanne kicked the air like a frustrated spider. There had to be something high up for her to jump to. The prototype of a killer robot would do nicely, but she spotted a rusty cabinet that was probably full of hazardous materials which would have to suffice.

 

Her sweaty grip on the hookshot handle loosened with every swing, but she persisted with every rebound until the tops of her feet found the cabinet's edge. She flew back and forth one final time. At last she slipped her fingers from the tool that had served her so well and had almost gotten her killed.

 

Roxanne waved her arms to catch her balance. There was a whizz, and then a clink. The handle and hook collided and spun around the curtain's pole, but Roxanne had already hopped down to a nearby bench as the hookshot began to fall. Deciding that letting it shatter would cost too much explanation to Misty, she unstrapped her Hylian shield from her back and plunged to the ground with it held out at arms length like a bowl.

 

She landed on her belly with a thump and a sigh. The hookshot clattered into her grasp.

 

“Minion?” a voice called out.

 

Roxanne looked up and rolled away. She was under the bench when she heard Megamind approaching. “Minion,” he said, “come look at what I drew!”

 

Roxanne rolled away again and slipped into the cabinet from before. She braced herself for whatever carcinogenic substance she would encounter. Letting her eyes adjust to the gloom, she looked around. Perhaps she could make an argument that the contents herein were dangerous. First, she saw Cheez-Its. Those could have a high sodium content, right? Then, she saw fruit snacks. Those were just plain dishonest. Thirdly, she was in the presence of several cans of organic chili. Well. One of those could easily roll off a shelf and hit someone over the head.

 

The footsteps stopped and she heard Megamind huff. “I just wanted someone to critique my drawing,” he moaned.

 

Roxanne squinted through a crack in the door of the Evil Pantry. Megamind had picked up a tape recorder and was now speaking into it.

 

“Evil Musing Number...er...386?” he said. “I must find a way to draw this new hero's attention to me. I wonder what kind of things they like? Really cool hats? Oh. What am I saying? Of course they like really cool hats.”

 

Roxanne reached for a package of fruit snacks and opened it as quietly as she could.

 

“What if I stole all of the hats in the city? But then what? I could make a contemporary art installation out of them, I guess. But that's not evil enough. And I really wasn't evil enough at our last meeting. Maybe I should have threatened that Barry guy.”

 

Megamind just wanted attention. It was almost sad. But if he wanted a hero, he shouldn't have killed off the last one.

 

“I must make myself more marketable as a villain,” Megamind said while pacing around. “First I'll need a scarier cape. One with really big spikes. Hmm. And maybe I could find someone to kidnap. There must be _someone_ important to The Rooftop Ranger.”

 

Roxanne bit a gummy strawberry so hard it almost exploded. She felt insulted. It was like she had just been used as a _thing_ all these years.

 

After a moment's thoughtful chewing, she felt disgusted with her disgust. What more was there to it? She never _did_ like the guy, but they always had some sort of relationship. Mostly he was a pain in her ass.

 

She was a stage prop.

 

Megamind was a killer with no remorse.

 

This was the truth that came out. But now, she had the chance to be so much more than that.

 

If it was a fight he wanted, she would gladly give it to him. But what was she going to do? Fight him with a cardboard sword?

 

Her hand reached for the hilt when her elbow knocked into something on a nearby shelf. She twisted her body to keep a can of baked beans from crashing to the floor but in the act, her shield smashed into a box of Lucky Charms and sent pots of gold and rainbows exploding into the cabinet.

 

Time stopped. Roxanne was ankle-deep in breakfast cereal and she was ready to attack.

 

The lair was silent.

 

Megamind's voice announced: “I must seek the advice of Minion. He should be upstairs gardening, I'm sure.”

 

Footsteps faded.

 

A door cracked open and some cereal trickled out. A green clad head popped out of the opening and the rest of Roxanne followed. So this was the lair, she thought. It didn't feel very evil. Sure, it _had_ all of the evil equipment. There were beakers, for instance. There were even volumetric flasks. To her left there was a table covered in various tubes, spirals, and spheroid shapes through which bright colored liquid bubbled and flowed through. Roxanne glanced at it, having the suspicion that if she looked around enough, she would find empty bottles of Gatorade somewhere.

 

The windows were tall and crusty. Despite the grime, the light they filtered in was not pale green, or eerie like the morning light of a foggy cemetery next to a swamp. Instead, golden afternoon light suffused the space as though it were a sleepy library built two centuries ago.

 

So maybe his taste wasn't _that_ bad. It didn't mean he was a decent person. He just wasn't _so_ predictable as to place his lair on top of a hill where lightning seemed to strike every fifteen minutes. There weren't any brains in jars. There wasn't even slime dripping from the ceiling. So what? She could think of many terrible people in the world, and they didn't have slime dripping from _their_ ceilings.

 

In an alcove framed by three arched windows, there fluttered a flock of colored paper on strings. Some sheets were magenta. Others were yellow. All of them had either scribbled writing jotted madly on them, or intricate blueprints of useless inventions. Deciding that she needed to know more about his wicked schemes, she reached for a paper that had something drawn on it that looked like a tuba with fangs.

 

That wasn't helpful. What was he going to do? Take over the city with an evil marching band?

 

She needed to find whatever drawing he had been working on earlier. Roxanne shuffled around to look.

 

“Oh, I suppose Minion stepped out somewhere,” said a voice. It was accompanied by the clanking of boots on metal stairs. “Perhaps to steal some musical instruments for my evil marching band. I thought I told him to scrap that idea.”

 

Roxanne spun around. Deciding that she needed some more artillery, she swept up a staple gun from a nearby table. It was only a precaution, she thought, as she sidled toward a door marked “EXIT.”

 

As she placed a hand on the doorknob, Megamind addressed the empty room. “And as for a _certain_ visitor, I haven't forgotten you.”

 

Roxanne stopped breathing. She pressed her back against the door, but her hand was still gripping the doorknob. Megamind was far away, at least. He just needed to not come any closer, or turn a corner. His voice still carried itself effortlessly by the impeccable acoustics of the place.

 

“Do you still watch me, from unseen heights? Do you still listen, with those cunning ears?”

 

She felt sick. So it was all an act. Megamind knew she was here, and he'd been playing dumb. How could she fall for a trick like that?

 

“If you're still listening,” Megamind continued, “then I suppose you care.”

 

Roxanne scowled. Of course she cared. She cared about the welfare of the city. She cared about Megamind getting the justice he deserved.

 

Megamind sighed. His voice began to crack. “I need to know: Do you believe in redemption? Can you possibly forgive me?”

 

She had to cover her mouth with a hand to avoid shouting: “No!”

 

It was still an act. It had to be. Everything was always an act with him. This was no more than a poorly conceived ploy to get her to announce herself, and she wasn't about to fall for any more of his tricks. But was she really ready to ambush him? What good would it do? She looked down at her staple gun and then pocketed it. Maybe all Megamind needed was to stew in his own misery.

 

Roxanne cracked the door open and inched backward.

 

Then she fell.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 “Are you sure it was a good idea to leave Roxanne alone back there?” Steve nibbled his Choco Taco with trepidation, trying to convince himself that the two of them were doing a good deed by salvaging the ice cream from an overturned ice cream van.

 

Misty unstuck her tongue from her Snow Cone. “Why not? It's only Megamind,” she said.

 

“It's not _her_ I'm worried about.”

 

“So what? If she offs him, then you won't have to worry about Megamind running around without a leash in your absence.”

 

“But that's not what I wanted! I just wanted to feel free somehow. But this isn't working at all.”

 

“Of course it is! You don't have to answer to the city's every beck and call. No saving the mayor from a flock of geese, or posing for tasteless billboards, or rescuing cats from burning buildings...”

 

Steve gasped. “Oh! All those cats that need me,” he wailed, placing his hands on his chest.

 

“I thought you only did that for the photo ops.”

 

“Look,” said Steve, “This isn't about the cats.2 It's just that everything I do has these _huge_ consequences. Even when I do nothing.”

 

“That's Metro Man talking. Just because you can put on tights and fly around doesn't mean you owe anything to anyone. Let the city take care of itself for a change. People don't have to rely on you every time they need to open a jar of pickles.”

 

“But this isn't about pickles either,” moaned Steve.

 

“So what do you want? Even if it wasn't for Roxanne, I'll bet you _someone_ out there is plotting Megamind's downfall. Let's just have fun with this.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 “I am out for revenge!” shouted Beatrice. She slammed a fist into the table and fine china rattled.

 

“You _always_ want revenge,” said Gertrude, sipping tea from a notched cup.

 

“This time I mean it.”

 

A shadow of silence fell over the Maud Squad. Everyone exchanged glances.

 

The Maud Squad was a group of biker grannies named after their fearless leader, the late Maud Frinkle. She was always late. In fact, she was already late to this meeting, and was probably going to show up with Starbucks despite the fact that they drank tea at all of their meetings.

 

A man pushing a cart of books brushed past. “How many times do I have to tell you? There are no drinks allowed in the library. And how do you even manage to get an entire tea set in here?”

 

He was met with half a dozen scathing pairs of eyes. He stared back, not quite scathing, but with a gaze that was so indifferent that it would make it irrelevant even if his audience carried concealed weapons, which they did anyway.

 

He stared.

 

They stared.

 

He stared back. Then he blinked. The women, having a median age of 77, were impervious to the slow, dripping passage of time that slithered by whenever the man lowered his eyelids.

 

“It seems we have reached an impasse, Bernard.” One of the leather-clad grannies pulled down her sunglasses and looked him up and down.

 

“Yes, Aunt Tilda,” Bernard sighed. “And—hey. How did _she_ get in here with a cat?”

 

Tilda Grumblés nudged the woman sitting next to her. “Selma,” she hissed, “quit pretending to be asleep.”

 

“What?” Selma opened her eyes. “Did someone say something about my cat?”

 

“Oh yes,” said Tilda. “Please introduce your cat to my nephew, Bernard.”

 

Selma stroked the ginger tabby that was fast asleep in her lap. “This is Geraldine, my seeing-eye cat. As you can imagine, I must have her with me at all times.”

 

“You seem to be looking at me just fine,” said Bernard.

 

“But I have night-blindness,” Selma wailed, just before pretending to fall asleep again.

 

Tilda reached for the flowery teapot in the center of the table and re-filled her cup. “We are all getting so feeble at our age. And how have _you_ been, Bernard?”

 

“I've been getting mildly perturbed,” he sulked, “and you don't want to see me when I'm perturbed.”

 

“Oh, you're always like that,” said Tilda.

 

“And you never want to see me.”

 

“Not want to see my own nephew? Inconceivable!”

 

Bernard sighed. “Well, you know the drill. They can't yell at me downstairs for not trying to get rid of you. Same time next week?”

 

“You got it!” Tilda made finger guns at Bernard.

 

“Ugh.” The Incredible Sulk slouched away, bringing his cart of books with him.

 

“Now,” said Beatrice, “back to the matter at hand. There is a certain party responsible for the disappearance of my grand-nephew. That is not to say that _your_ nephew isn't charming in his own way,” she added, tilting her eyes toward Tilda. “But mine, well...I taught him everything he knew about tea and cats...”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 Roxanne did not expect to plummet so far. She didn't expect the alligators, and she _always_ expected the alligators. But what she had never expected, at any point in her life, was to be hearing _The Hustle_ as she fell to her doom.

 

Something sparkled up above. She reached her hand up. Like an extension of her arm, the arrow-headed hook erupted upward and buried itself into the disco ball high above.

 

Alligators snapped below, but they were more interested in squeaky toys than they were with her.

 

She rotated in circles as the disco ball spun.

 

“Ah-ha!” a voice shouted from the doorway.

 

Roxanne tugged her hood over her face.

 

“Oh.” Megamind looked disappointed. “You're not a ghost.”

 

“A ghost? Why would I be a ghost?”

 

“Well you see, I've been having this haunting problem, and—hey! I don't have to answer to _you_.” He spat the word “you” as though it were a dire insult. “But...that voice...I _know_ your voice.”

 

Roxanne ducked her head as much as she could.

 

Megamind gasped. “ _The Rooftop Ranger_ ,” he whispered in awe.

 

The music faded. They existed in the silence between disco tracks.

 

Roxanne cocked her head. “The who now?”

 

“It _is_ you! You've returned! And I thought I was as good as the dirt beneath your toes. But anyway, you've infiltrated my lair, so I must take you prisoner or destroy you. Ah, so sorry, but rules are rules...”

 

Roxanne reached for the staplegun in her pocket and wielded it in front of her. She felt the shape in her hand. It was a little bit too _terracotta_ to be a staplegun.

 

Megamind gasped. “Not my prototype Chia Pet smoke bomb! But how?”

 

“Oh...this? Er. The question isn't how, by _why._ ” She lobbed the hedgehog at him. Megamind shrieked and disappeared in a cloud of smoke. Roxanne swung herself forward and landed on the doorway's ledge. Somewhere behind her Megamind plummeted and cursed her existence, but his words were cut off by the loudspeakers proclaiming:

 

“ _A_ _hhhhhh_ _h_ _f_ _reak out! Le Freak, c'est Chic.”_

 

The world was full of smoke, cursing, squeaking, and funky bass riffs. Roxanne left it all behind. With Megamind safely out of the way—or dangerously out of the way—Roxanne had the chance to explore the lair. Her first order of business was to take a peak at whatever he had been drawing earlier.

 

She passed by some hulking many-legged machinery and vials of bubbling liquids. She stopped. There it was. An easel was crowned by fluttering paper on strings. Roxanne crept forward.

 

“The Rooftop Ranger...” she muttered. “Well that's me all right. A little taller than I really am, but...imagine it. Swinging from building to building! Crushing Evil with an iron fist!” She made a fist and slapped it into the palm of her other hand. “Oh, but I'm being ridiculous. Maybe I should just go home and put some normal clothes on. Still, _someone_ needs to put their foot down.”

 

Roxanne _did_ put her foot down. She just happened to do it on the trap door.

 

___

1He wasn't even a decent con artist, although he had tried.

2It's about the cats.


	5. Figs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What even are figs?

 

Steve unwrapped a popsicle in the shape of a blobby Ninja Turtle. It was missing a gumball eye and it stared back at him cycloptically.

 

“I know what I _need,_ ” he announced.

 

Misty stopped icing the frozen desserts with her hands. “Yeah?”

 

“I need to feel liberated. But like...like a normal person would do. What do people do when they need to feel free?”

 

“I dunno,” said Misty, “Skydiving?”

 

“That's it!” Steve stood up so fast that the Ninja Turtle's head fell off of its stick and splattered to the ground.

 

“You're kidding.”

 

“No! It's perfect!”

 

“So what are you going to do? Shoot up into the air and fall back down?”

 

“Well, people usually get into a plane first, as I understand,” said Steve.

 

“But why?”

 

“To get into the sky, apparently.”

 

“No. But what's the point?”

 

“I don't know. It's just... _falling_. Without taking any control over your own gravity.” Steve looked into the sky and whispered, “I've never really _fallen_ before...”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Roxanne had experienced enough falling for one day.

 

She wasn't _purely_ falling, she had to admit. Sliding down a metal chute was more like it.

 

After a few moments of rushing past air and metal, she was ejected from a square opening with a _thoomp._ She somersaulted a few feet and then rolled to a stop. Her head was spinning and she kept her eyes closed to keep the world from sloshing around.

 

The whirling slowly died away, but a strange light shimmered across her eyelids as she lay on the ground like a starfish. Maybe she could just stay in this dungeon, or whatever it was. Who needed a life, anyway? Maybe Megamind could feed her slices of cheese through an air vent.

 

A sudden _blorbl_ brought her to attention. Roxanne opened her eyes. A flat, gray, frowning face stared back at her. Before she could register what she was looking at, she rolled away and collided with a wall of glass.

 

She opened her eyes and found herself in a tunnel of glass and sea life. The manta ray from before fluttered against the glass, making the same puzzled expression. Above her a swordfish sliced across the arch. A blowfish drifted next to her. If she was any judge, it had probably served as the model for _The Voide._

 

Megamind, she knew, would never be content without at least _one_ spiky creature in his collection.

 

_Collection_ , she thought. No. This couldn't be Megamind's.

 

A coral replica of the Taj Mahal bubbled merrily in its garden of highlighter-bright sea anemones.

 

“There's something fishy about this,” said Roxanne. “Ha! Why is it that I always come up with the best puns when no one is around?”

 

There was a muffled gasp behind her. She spun around. A shape the size of a large grapefruit darted back and forth in a panic.

 

“...don't…are! But…if….you…. _rude_...!” Minion huffed.

 

“What?” said Roxanne. “I can barely hear you!”

 

Minion drifted to a nearby intercom and switched it on. “If you would _please_ ,” he panted, “I clearly _must_ escort you off the premises—oh, how on earth did anyone intrude in here? We can't have this! We have a secret entrance and everything! Oh, but if you'd be so kind as to wait for a moment, I _must—_ oh, where _is_ my suit? Sir gets so grouchy when people stumble into—”

 

“Minion!” Roxanne breathed. She pulled her hood down. “It's me. If that helps.”

 

“Oh. Er. Well this is an unusual place to keep you hostage.”

 

“Not if Megamind wanted me to sleep with the fishes,” said Roxanne, lifting an eyebrow.

 

Minion looked at her. “Well, yes. I suppose you could, if you stayed here.”

 

Roxanne sighed. No one ever appreciated her jokes.

 

“Look,” she said, “Megamind doesn't exactly know I'm down here. He's too busy...er...checking on the alligators.”

 

“The alligators? But taking care of them is my job.”

 

“He fell in.”

 

Minion shook his head in disapproval, which is to say that he swished his entire body back and forth. “That's another Tuesday,” he said. “I keep telling him he should re-label that door.”

 

“I take it you'll have to _fish_ him out?”

 

“Oh no. He should be able to get out just fine.”

 

Roxanne pouted. “Then he'll be looking for me,” she muttered. “You haven't noticed anything odd about Megamind, have you?”

 

“I don't like where this conversation is going,” said Minion. “Sir always tells me not to divulge too much information to hostages.”

 

“But I'm _not_ a hostage!”

 

“Then you're an intruder, and that's even worse!”

 

“Come on,” said Roxanne, “this whole thing is bothering you, isn't it? He just killed a man, he hasn't been to jail for a while...and who knows what the lack of prison time must do to him.”

 

“What are you getting at?”

 

“Well...does he have to take some sort of...mad scientist medication or something?”

 

“Actually, Sir prefers the term 'angry scientist.'”

 

“Fine. Whatever. But he doesn't take anything to keep him from seeing things or talking to thin air? Or having tea with the ghost of Nikola Tesla?”

 

Minion tilted in confusion. “Why _wouldn't_ you want to see the ghost of Nikola Tesla?”

 

“Because it's not there!”

 

“Hmm. We wouldn't want any Tesla imposters, that's for sure.”

 

“You still didn't answer my first question,” said Roxanne.

 

“He does have Flintstone Chewables,” Minion admitted. “He won't take anything else unless I hide it in cheese.”

 

“So he doesn't have a history of seeing anyone?”

 

Minion pouted. If he'd had a body, he would have planted his hands on his hips and put his foot down. “I would _know_ if he ever dated—”

 

“No, I mean—oh what did I even say? No, not like that. That's absurd.” Roxanne tried to wrap her head around the idea of Megamind in a relationship with anyone, but failed. “I mean like imaginary people.”

 

“That is _immoral,_ Ms. Ritchi,” Minion gasped.

 

“Just work with me,” said Roxanne. “There's something different about him, isn't there?”

 

Minion frowned and tilted to the side, his bodiless version of a shrug. His silence told more than any words would have.

 

“He saw…. _something_. And it probably wasn't Nikola Tesla,” Roxanne pressed.

 

“Ms. Ritchi, I appreciate your concern, but I am perfectly capable of looking after—”

 

“Look. I already know. He told me.”

 

“He _wouldn't_ have!” The look of utter betrayal exploded across Minion's face.

 

“So you admit it.”

 

“Hrrmph! Sir always says you're tricky.”

 

Roxanne raised an eyebrow. “Oh? He talks about me?”

 

Minion, suddenly remembering that he was supposed to be secretive and that he was doing a very bad job of it thus far, simply said, “That is classified information.”

 

“I'm no match for your impenetrable defenses,” Roxanne sighed, rolling her eyes. “But you _are_ worried. You can't hide _that_.” She leaned in as close as the glass would allow. “You don't think he's feeling... _guilt,_ do you?”

 

Minion gaped at her in horror. “How could you suggest such a thing? He is irredeemably Pure Evil,” he sniffed, proud of the fact.

 

“Oh yeah? Would Pure Evil draw cartoon hearts around his doodle of the city's new hero?”

 

“Of course not! Sir always draws anatomically correct hearts,” Minion huffed.

 

Roxanne didn't feel like dancing around the subject. “You're worried about him. I'm worried...well, not about _him_ , but about...well I don't really know what I'm worried about. Worried about the city? But up until recently I never really felt like Megamind could really _do_ anything. No offense.”

 

“None taken!” Minion almost laughed. “Sir was always a master at being woefully incompetent.”

 

“That's exactly what I—” Roxanne froze. She noticed an opportunity here. “Yes. He was a master. A master at placing all the blame on you.”

 

Minion looked at her like a confused puppy. “That's not true. Not...not _all_ the blame,” he stammered.

 

“Of course not,” said Roxanne. Her mouth twisted into a slanted smile. “But how does he act now that you both have had some degree of success?”

 

“Us both? Ms. Ritchi, I assure you: I've had _some_ contributions, but really, I—hey! _I_ know what you're doing. You're implying that I'm not appreciated enough.”

 

“But you're the one who said it.”

 

“He can't even feed himself without me!”

 

“Oh yeah? And does he even eat your cooking, or does he just live off of badly burnt Pop Tarts?”

 

Minion frowned. “Well...I am amazed that he's so bad at using even a toaster. Even the evil ones that he's built himself, which also function as hoverboards and randomly explode from time to time.”

 

Roxanne stared at Minion without comprehension. “Hoverboard...toasters?” she whispered. “Uh...okay. But have you ever wanted to...see how he really felt?”

 

Minion narrowed an eye at her. “And how would that work?”

 

“You say he couldn't function without you. But does he ever think about that? What if you were to just disappear?”

 

“I couldn't do that!”

 

“Yes you could. If you were kidnapped.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “Not really kidnapped, of course. But he wouldn't know that. Can you write a ransom note?”

 

“Well of course, Ms. Ritchi. I always keep ransom note supplies in my suit, complete with sets of magazine clippings meticulously arranged by alphabetical order, size, font, and color.”

 

“I'm not surprised,” said Roxanne. “But to get through to Megamind, we'll need something punchy. To the point. You can't just disappear without a trace. He'll think you're on an errand, right? We'll need something like...”

 

Minion interjected. “Something like, 'If you want to see your Minion again…' ”

 

“Oh, that's good. And then, ahh...'Fight me!' How about that?” Roxanne supplied.

 

“But we need to create a sense of urgency. He needs a deadline.”

 

“Like...fight me tomorrow?” Roxanne suggested.

 

“Oh, yes! If you could be prepared by then, that is. But then again, Sir would probably be hardly a threat at such short notice. Especially without my help.”

 

“If you want to see your Minion again,” muttered Roxanne, “fight me tomorrow noon...”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

A single hand slapped onto the floor. Bits of blue skin shone through torn glove like the sky fighting with thunderclouds. Another hand followed, and it was almost completely blue but for a number of criss-crossed scratches. The rest of Megamind followed and flopped to the ground in a panting heap.

 

It was another Tuesday.

 

He threw off his tattered cape and draped it over a pyramid of cans of Chef Boyardee and a number of other capes that had been ripped, bitten, scorched, or eaten by either various caustic substances, up to and including genetically engineered cape-eating amoeba.1

 

It was time to do what he always did in times like these: Get changed into ripped jeans and an Iron Maiden T-shirt. Minion would take care of the rest, including stitching a new cape out of bits of old cape.

 

A gaggle of brainbots whirred around him and unzipped the remains of his spandex suit, while offering him equally shredded substitutes.

 

Megamind turned to the nearest brainbot. “I'm forgetting something, aren't I?”

 

It held up a single black bracelet adorned with spikes.

 

“Well _obviously,_ ” he said, snatching the bracelet for himself and slipping it over his wrist. “But there's something else.”

 

The circle of brainbots exchanged glances, bowging in hushed tones.

 

“Oh right!” Megamind snapped his fingers. “I have an intruder to dispose of. And not just an ordinary intruder. Now I _could_ do what I always do. Just toss a bag over their head and spin them around a few times. You know, so they don't find the place again? But no, I don't think even that would work for this one.”

 

Megamind inched around the lair, a spy in his own home.

 

“If I were an intruder,” he muttered, lifting up the lid of a nearby garbage can and peering inside, “where would I go?”

 

He tapped his chin, frowning. “The sensible thing would be to leave as soon as possible. I mean, that's what I would do. If I wasn't me. And if they have the gall to stay here, when I should be avoided at all costs, then I'm dealing with no normal person. Clearly they are a menace to society. And I'm the only person around here who's supposed to be a danger to society! Who do they think they are?”

 

Megamind stomped over to his drawing of The Rooftop Ranger. “Stomping! That's what I'm going to do,” he announced to no one in particular. “And I'm going to clench my hands into fists of immeasurable rage.” He paused for a moment, wondering if there was such a thing as _measurable_ rage.

 

A draft of air tinged with the scent of sea salt fluttered against his T-shirt. Frowning, he looked into the gaping void in the floor. “So they have fallen into one of the most classic blunders,” he murmured. “Really, I thought they were above this. But even the greatest heroes have their limits.”

 

Without hesitation, he leaped into the chute and descended into metallic depths shouting “wheeee!” and landing not with a graceful somersault, but with a _splat_ and a belly flop that left him winded.

 

Megamind stood up, panting and dusting himself off. He glanced around just to make sure no one had seen that, but a nearby squid was silently judging him. “I'd like to see _you_ do better,” he hissed at it, jabbing a finger in its face.

 

Critical sea creatures aside, the hall was empty. It extended, he knew, into darkness and more passageways that led to secret exits. This was his turf. He was hot on the trail of his apparent nemesis. Like a springing panther, he darted into darkness, only to have something papery hanging from the ceiling slap into his face. With his world encased in gray, he crashed into the ground once more.

 

He peeled the offending paper from his face and glared at it. Several poorly glued letters fell from the note and fluttered to the ground, not that he noticed. Megamind scanned the note and muttered its contents.

 

“If you want to see your ...ion ...gain, fig...me. To m...oon?”

 

He crumpled the note up and tossed it to the ground. “This thing doesn't even self-destruct! What an _armature_ ,” he spat. He kicked it for good measure. “And what kind of riddle is this? Ionic bonding? _Figs?_ The moon?”

 

He tapped a finger to his chin. “Ionic bonds...bondage. What are the implications of that word?” Most of the obvious implications of that word eluded his mind as he blinked innocently at the crumpled paper, which refused to explode.

 

“Someone must be trapped! But what about figs? What even _are_ figs? I've seen them measured in Newtons. So a thousand figs must equal one kilonewton of force, right? But what does that have to do with anything? So someone is being bound...and it would take a certain amount of outside force to break their inertia. Therefore this is clearly an invitation that I should act as that outside force! But for what reason?

 

“And then there's the moon. Well the moon influences the ocean tides, and the ocean is filled with various aquatic creatures, of varieties that I'm surrounded by right now. And Minion...Minion's not here. Oh. Minion's not _here_. Which means...oh no. _Minion_ is the one I need to rescue. But how? And when?

 

“There was an odd spacing of the word 'moon,' come to think of it. Perhaps it is a double meaning? Well tomorrow is the new moon, so perhaps there is some significance to the date! Of course! Everything occurs in patterns! And perhaps my foe and I should meet _under_ the moon, which being in the new stage, will be high in the sky at the same time as the sun. _Therefore_ , in conclusion, I must fight to free Minion beneath the noonday sun tomorrow! A tricky riddle, but none can outwit my scheming mind.”

 

 ---

1Which quickly evolved into crepe-eating amoeba, much to Minion's satisfaction. If Megamind wouldn't appreciate his elaborate breakfasts, then at least the amoeba would.


End file.
